


keep you in my focus

by cumulus



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Behind the Scenes, Cuddling & Snuggling, Denial of Feelings, Excuses for Touching, Filming, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Romantic Tension, Sharing a Bed, Side Established JJP, TV Industry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-05-28 02:37:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6311890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumulus/pseuds/cumulus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson is a variety star with a regular gig and Mark is his longtime VJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	keep you in my focus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hotfruits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotfruits/gifts).



> Hello hotfruits! I hope this is something along the lines of what you had in mind. I really had a lot of fun writing this premise, so thank you for leaving such an open prompt that could grow for me as I wrote in a way that was really cool! Thank you to everyone who held my hand through this, and one friend in particular for helping me the whole way through. This never would have gotten finished without you. Thank you and I love you. <3 The title for this is from "Love, Love, Love (Love, Love)" by As Tall As Lions.

Mark balances the weight of his camera on his shoulder. In front of him, Bambam fumbles with the keycard for the hotel room door. His hair’s a mess, still stuck up in the back from when he’d tumbled out of bed half an hour ago. The rest of them were up two hours ago to discuss the logistics for this morning’s shoot.

The door beeps and flashes green. Youngjae and Yugyeom crowd in behind Mark, ready to set up the room. Wake up scenes are weird to film—Youngjae’s on the lighting team, but Yeeun PD had wanted a realistic set up, so all he needs to do now is run into the room and turn on the lamp beside Jackson’s bed. In theory, it’s easy.

After only three nights in Singapore, Jackson’s suitcase has exploded out across every available surface. Youngjae trips and falters over a lump on the floor on his way to the lamp. His knee bangs against the bedside table and he throws his head back in a silent cry of pain. Bambam winces before he tucks himself in close to the wall to stay out of frame.

They’ll edit all of this out anyway.

Jackson doesn’t notice. His fist clenches where it’s curled around the blankets gathered up into his arms. The entire pile has been pushed over to one side of the bed so he can throw his leg around it and tuck it in close from his chest down to his hips.

Yugyeom shuffles into the room behind Mark, holding up his boom mic as Mark holds up three fingers to begin the countdown. On cue, with Mark’s fist still held aloft, Yugyeom sets off the alarm so it blares from his phone speaker and passes it off into Mark’s hand.

Jackson shifts, presses his face into the fabric of the comforter, and groans.

Mark steps in for the close up, zooming in to catch the stubble lining Jackson’s jaw. Yeeun PD had wanted real, and it doesn’t get much more real than the way Jackson’s chapped lips part slightly when he turns his face.

Frequent viewers of the show will know it’s Mark’s hand in the frame, holding the phone up above Jackson’s head a little higher than he can reach. Jackson’s eyes squint open against the harshness of the light. His eyelashes cast tiny shadows against his cheeks.

He reaches his arm up like he’s going to swat Mark’s hand away, but instead he wraps his fingers around his wrist. Mark’s left with a shot following the line of Jackson’s forearm, down his bicep and onto the material of his black tank.

“S’morning already?”

“This is your wakeup call!” Youngjae shouts from out of frame.

Jackson’s hand falls away from Mark’s wrist as he sits up. His hair sticks up around the crown of his head like it gets sometimes when he falls asleep in his snapbacks.

“Sexy look, hyung,” Bambam says. “I should start doing your hair like this on purpose.”

“‘M always sexy,” Jackson yawns. “I’d probably start a new trend like that. You’d have to open up a salon to keep up with the demand.” 

Mark takes a step back to loosen the shot. “What’s the agenda after this?”

“Game run through,” Youngjae says. “Rumour has it it’s athletic and Jackson-hyung’s going to love it. You probably not so much.”

They’ll edit this out too.

Jackson grins. The transition to his on camera face is so smooth it’s easy to miss. “Bring it on.”

Mark’s already got all the footage he needs. Their audience goes crazy for real, unedited content every single time: messy hair, eye crusties, the way Jackson’s beard shadows in over night. But he knows Jackson, which means he knows that every time, without fail, Jackson has to upstage the script.

Jackson stands up in one smooth movement, shooting a wink at the camera. His hands fall down to the hem of his tank. Mark gets a shot of his abs as he peels it over his head and throws it onto the floor on his way to the bathroom. The breadth of his shoulders stretches out across the frame of the doorway, highlighting the glint of his chain at the nape of his neck. The bathroom light clicks on, Jackson disappears, and the moment is gone.

Mark turns the camera off. Bambam rushes over to the bathroom door, his arms already full of the clothes he wants to shove Jackson into for the day.

Yugyeom lowers the base of his mic, setting it against the floor to support less of its weight. “You got that, right?”

“PDnim’s going to love that one.” Youngjae rolls back and forth on the balls of his feet, like the motion alone will keep him awake. “Great for previews.”

“Did you ask him to do it?” Yugyeom asks. “He seemed really—uh—comfortable, on camera.”

“He tends to do that.” Mark grins and sinks down onto the edge of the mattress, letting the camera fall into place next to him. “He knew we were doing this kind of scene but we didn’t plan anything out—that’s just Jackson being himself. You’ll get used to it the longer you film with him.”

“I know he seems overwhelming at first, but eventually the novelty wears off.” Youngjae bops Yugyeom on the shoulder on his way back towards the hallway door, grinning out of reach. “Especially when you see he acts just the same off camera. He’s really nice. Mark-hyung’s been working with him forever.”

Yugyeom turns to face Mark. It’s his second week on the job. If Mark hadn’t told Jackson not to freak him out, Jackson would already be trying to baby him. “Hyung, how long—”

“Four years.” Mark attempts to make the approximating wave of his hand look reassuring. “I was the maknae VJ fresh out of school and I got assigned to Jackson since he was the maknae for the cast. You’ll have fun the longer you’re here, I promise.”

Youngjae laughs out in the hallway from where his foot still props the door open. Mark peers around the corner in time to see Hani ruffling his hair. Taecyeon follows close behind her, his camera still balanced on his shoulder. Yugyeom shuffles in place, his hand hovering over his mic.

“You can go with them to get breakfast if you want, we’re all done here.”

“Really?” Yugyeom’s hand settles around the grip. “Is that—”

“Really. Leave now unless you want Jackson to rope you into eating with him. Literally, with his arm around your neck.”

“Thanks, hyung.” He’s out the door as fast as the mic allows, and Hani ruffles his hair too just before the door slips shut.

Mark leans back on his hands, closes his eyes, and listens to the hum of the hairdryer through the bathroom wall.

 

 

Something touches Mark’s wrist, jerking him awake. His head swims as he tries to remember where he is. Jackson’s face emerges above him, set off against the curls in the paint decorating the ceiling. For a moment he’s still blurry like Mark’s caught in the middle of a dream.

“Swhas’ goin—”

“You fell asleep.” Jackson keeps his voice as soft as the strokes of his thumb against the thin skin of Mark’s inner wrist. “You got up early right? I woke up and you weren’t there.”

“Y-yeah,” Mark rasps. “We had the pre-filming meeting for the wakeup scene.”

Jackson pouts. “You know I can’t sleep without hugging something.”

“I know. It was hard enough getting out of bed this morning with you draped all over—”

“Pretend I’m not here!” Bambam whisper yells. He lets his armful of clothes and beauty tools thump all together onto the desk against the wall across from the bed. The hairdryer slips off the top of the pile at the last second, crashing onto the floor. “Whoops. It’s probably fine. Don’t let me ruin your moment.”

Marks pulls his wrist from Jackson’s grip to tuck his hands underneath his thighs. Jackson frowns. “I don’t think anyone in a five mile radius will be able to forget that you’re here. Your shoes alone are impossible to ignore.”

Bambam kicks one pink booted foot in Jackson’s direction. “That’s the point. Before you insult them, you should remember that I’m the one who picks your wardrobe out every morning.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I wouldn’t—you’d look awful in pink. It’s more Mark-hyung’s colour.”

“You think?” Mark asks. Jackson rests his hand at the back of his neck, warm against the exposed skin above the neckline of his tshirt.

“Personally, I think pink would be great on Yugyeom.” Jackson adjusts to get both of his hands on Mark’s shoulders to massage out the kinks. “He would look, and I quote, ‘Soooo cute. Illegally cute.’ What do you think, Mark?”

“That was a secret!” Bambam hisses. He doesn’t turn away from the mirror where he’s fixing his bangs. “That was never supposed to leave the bathroom. See if I ever tell you anything again.”

“You know I tell Mark everything.”

“I know. Everyone knows.” Bambam sighs, looking back at them through the mirror. “I’m going to go find wherever everyone’s gone for breakfast, and you two can stay here and do whatever it is that you do when you’re alone that I definitely don’t want to be here to see.”

“We’re not—” Mark starts, but Bambam’s already out the door in a blur of pink leather. “Uh.”

“Ignore him. He’s just pouty because he hasn’t figured out how to talk to Yugyeom yet. He’ll be gushing to me again by this afternoon.”

Jackson sits down on the bed to press himself up against Mark’s back, speaking close into his ear when he tucks his chin over Mark’s shoulder. His arms wrap loose around Mark’s waist. “I swear to god his crush is the size of the entire Korean peninsula. We should lock them in a closet or something.”

“You okay? Tired?”

“Huh?” Jackson moves to lift away, but Mark steadies him with his hands on his forearms, keeping him there. “Yeah. Totally fine. I’m cool. The coolest. Why?”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Jackson slumps closer, tucking his face into his Mark’s neck. “Only to you.”

“You wanna go get food? Everyone’s probably in the hotel restaurant but we can go get something outside. I think I saw a congee place yesterday when we were filming. They had a picture of youtiao in the window and everything.”

“You’re the best. In a minute.” Jackson’s breath fans out against Mark’s neck. His arms tighten as much as they can, and he snuggles in.

 

 

“Jackson,” Mark hisses. The light on the camera glints off the glass of the two TV screens on stands towards the front of the room. At the back, a few old CRTs sit covered in dust. It’s a maze of stacked up chairs, a cart of books, a model skeleton missing its right arm—most of this stuff looks like it hasn’t been used in ten years. “I’m turning the camera light off, okay? No one will find you.”

In the dark, Mark tries to step forward on memory alone but instead bangs his hip three seconds later. “Fuck! Jackson! It’s Mark! I know you’re in here. Your mic finally stopped giving me static when I was outside the door. Hopefully someone got footage of you because I sure as hell didn’t.”

“Here, come here. You can’t see shit like this. My eyes already adjusted.”

A hand reaches out to grab Mark’s wrist without warning. The only light left spreads out in a line from the rectangle of glass laid into the door. It passes in and out over Jackson’s face—his mouth, the point of his nose, the snapback snug over his forehead—as they weave their way to the back corner of the room. The white of the nametag attached to the back of his shirt almost glows.

“What even is this?” Mark asks. “A/V storage? How the hell did you even get in? How are you going to get out if someone from the chase team comes in here? Did you think? At all?”

Mark hands the camera over when Jackson reaches for it. He can’t even find it in himself to tell him off when he sets it down on the floor and shuts it off.

“Yubin-noona said all the rooms in the school without anything too valuable would be unlocked for the game tonight. No one will think to look in here, they’ll be too afraid of damaging stuff. When I opened the door it was all this junk.”

“I’m glad to hear that you not caring about property damage is going to help you win the round.” Mark kicks at him, but it’s half-hearted at best. Jackson catches his foot in his lap and holds it there. 

“Do you know how long it took me to find you? You ran off so fast I had to catch you on a zoom shot sprinting out of the gym. You were too far away for your mic to function so I’ve been playing this weird game of hot and cold with all of the other VJs, trying to figure out where the hell you went and waiting for the static to clear up if I got close enough to your mic. I got lucky finding you this time, I guess.”

“More like I got lucky that you found me. You’re my good luck charm, I swear. There’s no way I’ll lose now.” Jackson’s hand rests over Mark’s ankle, warm and heavy, before he starts massaging his calf with both hands.

“If you think this makes up for ditching, try again,” Mark says, but it turns into a bitten back groan when Jackson finds a particularly stiff spot to work out. “What’s the point of a lucky charm if you don’t have it with you?”

Jackson’s hands pause for a moment before his thumbs press in again. “I’m sorry. Are you really mad? I really want to kick Jinyoung’s ass and I guess that took over in my head. Guests always win and I didn’t—anyway. I’m sorry for ditching you.”

“I was annoyed, yeah, but I’m used to how competitive you get.” Jackson looks sheepish, staring down at his lap to hide his face as he switches to Mark’s other leg. “It was just embarrassing. I passed Jinyoung and Jaebum a while ago in the hall and Jinyoung laughed so hard he started crying when I told them I’d lost you. He had to lean his hands against the wall to stay standing.”

“Yeeun-noona’s going to love that one. I’ll bet you 20,000 won right now that Jaebum-hyung got a good shot of his ass. It’ll probably make previews as some shot of him standing there with his hands spread out against the wall like he’s in the middle of one of those school punishments.”

Mark wiggles back to get comfortable against the wall, and it’s weird but it’s almost like they’re not in the middle of a game right now, or in the middle of a shoot. It’s just him and Jackson, sitting here together in the dark. Jackson’s hands aren’t even massaging anymore. They’re just resting there over his jeans, easy and comfortable, like it’s nothing at all.

“Not taking that one, I’d lose.” Mark looks at the ceiling so he won’t look at Jackson, but he can still feel the weight of his hands. “You were all worried about losing to Jinyoung but they’re probably just flirting. Now that Jaebum VJs for the show fulltime they hardly get to see each other.”

“Trust me, he can definitely flirt and plot my demise at the same time. It’s been so weird watching him play innocent schoolboy in this drama, even if filming in a place like this has been pretty cool.”

“Mmm,” Mark hums.

Jackson’s thumbs rub absent-mindedly over the material of Mark’s jeans as the conversation winds down. The rest of the crew think that Jackson never stops talking, but the truth is something more like he won’t let himself stop, not when everyone needs him to keep going.

It’s easy like this. Maybe it’s that Jackson’s learned that Mark doesn’t need to be talking every second. Maybe it’s just that they’re together so often. But the silence never feels too heavy in the way Jackson always seems so afraid of when he’s around anyone else but Mark.

The hum of the heaters takes over the room. Every little rustle of Jackson’s trackpants feels too loud as he fidgets in place. He keeps looking up at Mark’s face and then ducking his head away when he gets caught.

Mark squirms, wiggling his foot out of Jackson’s grip. The tiled floor is cool against the back of his leg even through his jeans. “What’s wrong?”

Jackson shrugs. “I want—I feel like we should be filming this? But I also want—god. It’s stupid, nevermind.” He doesn’t look at Mark as he reaches for the camera.

Mark opens his mouth to talk and Jackson nods, encouraging him with a wide gesture from his free hand as he lets the camera settle onto his shoulder. The red recording light flicks on at the same time as the camera light flares into Mark’s face.

“Shit! Shit, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yeah just—just gimme a second.”

Mark’s vision goes blotchy for a few seconds as his eyes adjust. As Jackson settles back into focus, Mark’s heart settles in the middle of his throat. Jackson’s leaning closer than he was before, up on his knees and tilting over towards Mark to get up close to his face and assess for damage.

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Y-yeah. It’s fine. I just—What were you going to say?”

Even in the low light, Mark can see the way Jackson swallows as he sits back again.

“I just—” He glances up at Mark, biting his lip. “Sometimes I want to keep this stuff for just us, you know? When we’re like this. Sometimes I don’t want to film it. I want. I want to keep it like this. Just us.”

The recording light stays dark. Mark hangs on to the faint, glimmering hope that Jackson can’t pick up the self-conscious blush working its way onto his cheeks. There’s something about the things Jackson says, about the way he stares sometimes like he can see through every bit of him, or maybe just like he wants to. 

“Any words for your adoring fans?” The hem of the sleeve of Jackson’s tshirt tightens and pulls back against the bulge of his bicep.

“I think they’d rather hear from you.”

Jackson’s eyes shine in the faint light from the door. He draws his lower lip into his mouth and holds it there. It’d almost look like he’s holding back laughter, but his shoulders shake when he does and right now he’s perfectly still. “I want to hear from you. I’m your fanclub president. My opinion matters around here.”

Both of them startle when the PA system crackles on to announce the switch in teams. The camera turns on for real, and Mark takes over.

Jackson’s game face flips on in an instant. Energy bubbles up through him from the place deep inside of him that somehow never runs out. It’s tangible, physical, like he’s a fluorescent light in the dark of the room humming back into life. Even the space around them feels different: except for the heat still lingering in Mark’s ears tying it all together, it’s like the last twenty minutes existed somewhere else.

When Jackson turns, Mark gets a good shot of his nametag as they weave their way out of the room. This time, Jackson stays close. Out of frame, his hand ghosts over Mark’s free one for just a moment.

“You ready?” Mark asks.

“More than ready.” Jackson shakes out his shoulders, shooting the camera a grin that will have people all over the internet frantically making gifsets for the first few days after the episode airs. “But Park Jinyoung won’t know what hit him.”

Mark gets a wicked side cramp sprinting to get a good, even shot of Jackson as he runs down the hall yelling Jinyoung’s name. It’s worth it for the smile Jackson shoots back at him, already high on the adrenaline of the chase.

 

 

Late shoots always take a toll on the crew: the longer it lasts, the more everyone fades. It’s a gradual progression, but by the end of the night most people have the sense of self-preservation to call it quits and go home.

Jackson, of course, is the exception. 

Even now, when it’s hovering around 4AM and they’re on the street somewhere in the middle of Suwon, he’s still buzzing with the residual energy left over from running around all night.

Marks falls into step next to Jaebum, nudging him with his elbow. Neither of them say anything. For now the chilly November air is enough to keep them both awake, if only barely.

Up ahead, Jinyoung shoves his shoulder into Jackson’s. “So are you finally going to treat me to meat? Because I think I deserve a victory meal for kicking your sorry ass at that game.”

“I feel like you should be the one treating _me_. Coming onto my show and beating me isn’t cool, man. You have to come back on sometime for a rematch. Give me a chance to get even.”

Jinyoung scoffs. “I’ll kick your ass next time too. What kind of show name is Warming Man, anyway?”

Jackson stops in the middle of the sidewalk. He places one hand very solemnly over his heart. “I’m offended. We’re men who’ll warm the hearts of the nation from the inside out. And Hani-noona, obviously. Most of us have a lot of ahjumma fans but every time she’s the focus of an episode, our watcher demographic skyrockets for girls in their 20s. She’s magic.”

“Noona’s cool,” Jaebum says. “But if you guys don’t decide on somewhere soon, I’m calling a taxi to get myself home before my stomach decides to eat its way out of my body.”

Jinyoung walks backwards for a few steps to try to wear Jaebum down with his pout. “We will, as soon as we find a place that serves ogyeopsal.”

Jaebum grumbles under his breath but makes no move to reach for his phone. As they reach the corner of a large intersection, the light of the pedestrian symbol flickers green one last time before it turns red. Now that they’re not moving, the cold seeps through Mark’s thin jacket down to where his hands are shoved into his pockets. 

Jackson whacks Jinyoung’s arm. “You’re not worth ogyeopsal. Maybe samgyeopsal on a good day if I was feeling generous. Which I’m not.”

Jinyoung rolls his eyes. “You’re the sorest loser I’ve ever met. I would’ve asked for beef but I already know you’re too cheap, so we’ll just have to settle.”

Jackson’s eyes catch on something across the street. “Speaking of settling—”

“I don’t like where this is heading.”

Jackson points at the lit up sign of a convenience store a little farther down the cross street. “—how would you feel about ramyun? I’ll treat.”

Jinyoung looks across the street, back at Jaebum, then across the street again. His sigh puffs out into the cold air. He presses his thumb and index finger over the bridge of his nose and holds them there for a long, drawn-out moment.

“Fine. But let it be known that you’re the cheapest person I’ve ever met. And I’m getting at least 10,000 won of extra stuff to put in mine. And chicken from the case at the back of the store.”

“Cheaper than ogyeopsal. Sold.” The pedestrian symbol turns green on the side of the street where they have to cross. Jackson hovers back, waiting for Mark when Jaebum and Jinyoung step out ahead. “You should have told me you were cold. I always have hot packs in my pockets.”

“Not that cold.” A gust of wind kicks up as they step into the street away from the cover of the surrounding buildings. Mark shivers and Jackson shoots him a look. “Okay. Maybe a little.”

“Come here.” Jackson pulls his hand from his pocket and holds it out for Mark to take. His palm is warm when he links their fingers together. “God, you feel like a fucking icicle.”

Mark’s gotten used to Jackson over the years, so touching like this has moved comfortably into the realm of his normal day to day routine. It’s normal enough even to other people that Jinyoung and Jaebum don’t blink when they catch up to them, still holding hands, and the four of them cross over to the convenience store together.

“You two can save us a table,” Jinyoung says. “I feel like I deserve at least beer, so we’ll have to drink out here. I’ll go in and watch what he buys to make sure he doesn’t cheap out on me.”

Jaebum plunks himself down into a plastic chair set up around one of the tables. He leans his head back and closes his eyes, already resigned to his fate. Mark moves to follow him, but Jackson hangs on to his hand. He motions for Jinyoung to go into the store, then digs around in his pocket for his hot pack.

Mark’s used to this. Jackson’s touchy, Jackson’s kind, Jackson’s more thoughtful than he knows what to do with sometimes. It’s just like Jackson to dig a hot pack out and make sure that Mark is warm before he goes inside.

Jackson scoops up both of Mark’s hands in his, pushing the hotpack into the middle of the space they create. He cups his hands around the outside of Mark’s, just holding them there.

“Um,” Mark says, when he still hasn’t moved. “Jinyoung’s probably—”

“He can wait.” Jackson rubs his hands over Mark’s one last time before he takes a step in towards the door. “I care more about you keeping warm.”

“You should go in. You didn’t—” Mark doesn’t know why he stops. It’s something about the look on Jackson’s face, this affectionate frown that doesn’t make any sense. His heart’s racing and he hopes it doesn’t show on his face. “You didn’t have to do this. I’m okay.”

“I wanted to though. So.” Jackson shrugs one shoulder and smiles. The entry bells rings out and he’s gone.

Mark squeezes the hot pack in his palm as he takes the seat next to Jaebum, who cracks one eye open to look at him.

“Have you guys finally—?”

The air feels even cooler against the flush that floods Mark’s face. “No. I don’t—I told Jinyoung last time. It’s not—it’s not like that.”

Jaebum sits up in his chair. The feet of it scratch along the cement when he pulls it in closer to the table. He glances towards the door to the store from the corner of his eye. “Look. I know I never… do this. But I wanted to tell you. Jinyoung and I—we. I think it’s for real this time? We started again three months ago and this time we haven’t stopped.”

Mark scuffs his sneaker against the sidewalk under the table. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jaebum says. He pushes his fringe back from his face. A smile fights at the edge of his mouth. “Yeah, for real. We have a hotel room for whatever’s left of tonight. Probably tomorrow too.”

“I’m really happy for you guys.” The hot pack rests warm against Mark’s thigh right where Jackson rests his hand sometimes when they sit together for their meal breaks. “Seriously.”

“Thanks. But I guess. What I mean is… if we can finally figure our shit out, I kind of believe anyone can. You and Jackson included. You can have what you want if you let yourself. I guess I’m finally learning that.”

“I—I don’t know what I want.” His tired brain jams on ‘hotel room’. He can’t remember the last time he and Jackson slept in different beds. It’s a simple formula: they get a double, they sleep in Jackson’s bed, Jackson spends the night curled around him like a weird, warm, muscular octopus. Simple. Easy. Routine. “Have you ever—”

Mark gestures in the air over the table, unsure of what he’s asking. Jaebum quirks an eyebrow, like somehow he gets it anyway. He leans back in his chair, folds his arms behind his head, and looks like he’s trying very hard not to laugh.

“Have we had sex?”

Mark’s cheeks feel so hot he must be flushed up to the roots of his hair by now. He sputters. “I didn’t mean—”

Jaebum looks kind of like he wants to reach over and ruffle his hair, which just makes it worse. “Cute. What do you think we got the room for?”

“How did you know that Jinyoung wanted—”

Jaebum holds up a hand to stop him. “It’s Jinyoung. He didn’t let me miss it.” 

That makes Mark laugh a little. He feels wound up, like his body has too much energy and none of it has anywhere to go. “Okay, true.”

“Look.” Jaebum glances towards the door of the store. “If you think that’s all Jackson wants from you, then—”

“No.” Mark’s answer is so immediate that it surprises him. “That’s not—I don’t think that.”

“Right,” Jaebum says slowly. His entire face softens. “Then whatever’s holding you back, just—I meant what I said. About letting yourself have what you want. If you don’t know, then figure it out. If you can’t see what Jackson wants in the way he keeps looking at you, you’re either an idiot or lying to yourself. Even I can see it.”

Mark opens his mouth to reply, but the door to the store jingles open. Jackson and Jinyoung push their way out onto the sidewalk. A plastic bag dangles from Jackson’s wrist, and each of them have cup noodles cradled in each hand.

“I didn’t get beer,” Jinyoung says, flopping down into the seat on Jaebum’s other side. “It’s too damn cold and my ass deserves better than getting frozen off outside a convenience store even more than it already is. But I did get two kinds of cheese, sausage on two for one special, and soft boiled eggs. This better be the most delicious ramyun in the universe.”

“For the price I paid, I really hope so too.” Jackson sets Mark’s noodles down in front of him. “I got extras for yours too in case you didn’t know what you wanted.”

“You see what I have to deal with? I have to fight for him to buy me cup ramyun but buying Mark-hyung three kinds of cheese is nothing. I call blatant favouritism.”

Jaebum ignores him, already so deep in his noodles that the cover comes up over his nose. Jackson shrugs and hooks his ankle around Mark’s underneath the table.

“Mark’s special, so there.” His hand falls down onto Mark’s thigh, even with where the hot pack rests on his opposite leg. The heat of his palm presses into his skin, radiating outwards from the point of contact. Mark dumps the shredded cheese into his ramyun on autopilot, ignoring the way Jackson’s nails scratch against his inseam.

“Earth to Mark!”

“Huh?”

Jackson’s hand rubs down towards his knee. “You okay? I said your name like five times.”

“Two,” Jinyoung says, attempting to cut a sausage into smaller pieces with a spoon.

Mark blinks. “I—yeah. I’m fine. Just tired.”

Jackson leans into Mark’s side, smiling through the mouthful of noodles he’s shoving into his face. Somehow it’s both gross and cute at the same time, but that’s just Jackson. That’s always been Jackson.

Jaebum raises an eyebrow at Mark over the label of his cup like he knows exactly what he’s thinking. Mark inhales his noodles so fast he scalds the top of his mouth.

 

 

“Noona, what number are you on?” Jackson skids to a halt at the end of the aisle, yelling over to Gukjoo as she power walks past with a princess dress up set hugged to her chest. The fuzzy pompom on the end of his Santa hat bounces against his cheek, and Mark stifles a giggle with the back of his hand pressed over his mouth. At the rate the shoot has been going, the sound team will yell at him once they go through all of the footage and catch his near constant laughter in the background.

“Number three!” Gukjoo shoots a v-sign back and him before she’s off towards the checking station at the front of the store. Jackson scowls even harder, like it’s taking every ounce of his willpower not to swear on camera.

It’s their third year filming a Christmas special, and if there’s one thing that Mark’s learned, it’s that game mode doesn’t turn off for Jackson, not for Christmas, and not for charity.

“Maaaark.” Jackson tilts his head at just the right angle, sticking out his lower lip and going all wide-eyed. “Help me. I know your sister has kids. I can’t still be on my first card if Noona’s on three. I’m going to lose. I always lose when she guests.”

“Nope.” Mark indulges him and pats him on the head. “I swore to Yeeun PD I wouldn’t. You’re on your own.”

“Our clue definitely matches Pororo.” Jackson peers down at the card, then flips it over to look at the text on the back. “And we have to find a toy that matches with kindergarten kids? But. What does that mean. What do kids that age like? What if I injure a kid?”

He stares up at the shelf of Pororo merchandise stacked up on the shelves in front of them. “Or worse, what if I pick something the kids hate and then they hate me?”

“Great priorities.” Jackson only pouts harder. “You know the toy basket up front is going with us for the New Year charity special regardless of what you pick today, right?”

“Yeah, but I need to win.” Jackson stares down at the card like the right combo of flips over in his hand will reveal that Mark’s nieces had totally been into the Pororo matching game he brought home last Christmas. All of a sudden he freezes, waving the card in the air in front of the camera lens until it makes a flapping sound. His smile’s the biggest that Mark has seen it all night.

“I have a feeling I’m not gonna like this.”

“Hear me out.” Jackson walks backwards through the aisle back to the main one so Mark can frame his shot. “The game objective is to get the cards, figure out the clues, and match toys to the age range on the back, right?”

“Right… so—”

“ _So_ , we could stay here with Pororo and friends, or—” He cheers as they pass the puzzle aisle, then jogs to the shelves in the middle to climb onto the lowest one. A red clue envelope sits clipped to a hanging rack of collectible card packs. “Or, we could mess with the game a little.”

“So you want to, what, hoard all of the envelopes so that no one else can win?”

“No.” Jackson hops down from the shelf. He doesn’t even open the envelope. “I want to make the game more interesting so people at home keep watching.”

“Didn’t you want to win?”

Jackson pats him on the shoulder on his way back out to explore the next aisle. “Guaranteed air time, Mark. Increased viewing time per audience member. That’s a win to me.”

Sometimes, Jackson leaves him stunned. “You’re really—”

Jackson’s tongue pokes out from between his teeth when he reaches far into one of the middle shelves for red corner poking out between the kitchen sets. He cheers again when he pulls it out, smiling as he adds it to his pile. “I’m really what?”

“Amazing,” Mark says, before he can stop himself. He’s already sure he’s blushing. “Um. At this. Amazing at this.”

“I am pretty amazing.” Jackson grins, but they’ve worked together long enough now that Mark knows it’s one of his smiles made just for the camera.

Mark’s walkie crackles on from where it’s buckled onto his belt, tuned into their collective channel.

“There’s been a situation with the checking station,” Yubin says. “The computer system needs to be rebooted or something, it’s not scanning anything. Tech was going to be half an hour and I know we all want a break, so eat something, take a nap, whatever, as long as you’re back here by then. Hang tight, everyone, and keep your walkies on.”

Jackson groans, pressing his forehead into the shelf in front of him. When he turns his head towards Mark he looks so much like a kicked puppy that Mark laughs full out this time. “Shut up, my strategy was just taking off!”

“Your genius can make another appearance whenever they fix it.” Mark glances down at the watch on his left wrist. Just after 2AM. “You want to sit in on my call to my parents? They should be up by now, they wake up early.”

Jackson brightens right up. “Can I?”

“Yeah.” Mark’s throat goes tight. “You know they love you.”

On their way out of the aisle, Jackson smiles soft and just for Mark as he passes by the side of the camera. He presses his hand to Mark’s upper arm, leading him out.

“Wang Jackson!” Gukjoo’s voice rings out through the main aisle as she walks up. She doesn’t stop until she wraps Jackson up in a hug. Jackson laughs, allowing it for a second before he’s lifting her up and twirling her around.

“I missed you, Noona.” He sets her down and she laughs, punching him in the shoulder. “It’s been too long.”

“This kid, what am I going to do with you.” She waves over at Mark. “You taking good care of him?”

Jackson squawks in protest. “I don’t need—”

Mark smiles. “Yeah, of course.”

Jackson takes his hat off and runs his hand through his hair before he jams it back on. His smile is impossibly fond. It’s too much. “Mark always takes good care of me.”

“Good. We should catch up for a bit, unless you two…” Gukjoo lets it trail off, wiggling her eyebrows at Jackson.

“Noona!” Jackson whines. It’s rare to see Jackson flustered, but tips of his ears turn redder with each passing moment. He glances over at Mark, but it’s like he can’t take it, he looks away so fast. “We were just going to—”

“It’s cool,” Mark says. “I’ll just call my parents myself. You two catch up.”

Gukjoo stands there for a second, opening her mouth like she’s going to say something else, but Jackson hooks his arm into hers and power walks her away.

“You didn’t tell me you talk to his parents!” she hisses. Jackson just walks faster, steering them both into one of the aisles farther down.

Mark stands there in the middle of the aisle for a long moment, staring at where they had disappeared as his heart pounds in his chest.

 

 

Jackson settles down beside Mark where he’s sitting along the wall. Mark’s eyes are closed, his forehead pressed against his raised knees, but he doesn’t need to see him to know it’s Jackson. The lights are still turned down like they were for the game, leaving the back corner of the store in shadow. It’s the sort of spot where no one could find him unless they really tried, but Jackson’s always been good at knowing exactly where he’ll be.

Mark cracks his eyes open and turns his head to the side to look at Jackson. He’s blurry at first, but then he’s right there, up so close to Mark’s face he could count all of his eyelashes if he wanted. The Santa hat has disappeared and instead his bangs fall into his eyes, fluffy and messy. He knees pull up to match Mark’s, crinkling the plastic convenience store bag tucked in the space between his thighs and his stomach.

Mark yawns and tries to hide it in his knees.

“Did you sleep like this?”

“M’not sure.” Mark’s entire body feels heavy, but it eases as Jackson starts to play with the back of his hair. “Has it been half an hour already?”

“Any minute now. Noona and I went to the convenience store down the street. She was thinking ddeokbokki but I didn’t want to leave you for too long, so we settled on kimbap and ramyun.”

“I wouldn’t ‘ve minded if you went with her. I know you’ve been missing her.”

“I know. But she told me I should come back and see you, and I wanted—” Jackson’s hand stills for a second before he curls his fingers in the hair at the nape of Mark’s neck. “Anyway. How were your parents?”

“Good. Kind of worried about me, since I called this late. Or early for them I guess.”

“I’m glad you got to talk to them.”

When Mark stretches, his spine cracks and straightens out against the wall, and Jackson’s hand falls away from his hair. “They asked about you.”

Jackson plays with one of the handles of the plastic bag. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. They said to thank you for always taking care of me.”

“S’no big deal. Speaking of—I got you tuna samgak kimbap and that vitamin drink you always get.”

The cellophane wrapper on the kimbap crunches in Mark’s hand. “I mean it though. I feel like you’re always—”

“I want to.” Jackson passes the drink over too. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“God, Jackson, I’m trying to—you’re always giving so much to everyone? I just. Don’t want you to think I don’t notice everything you do. You know? For me or for other people. But especially for me.”

Mark’s laugh comes out strained, too high and awkward in his throat. He stares down at his lap as he plays with the tabs on the cellophane. “God, I’m sorry. I’m tired, I don’t know what I’m saying anymore.”

“No. No, I get it.” Jackson’s hand runs along Mark’s forearm to rest over his wrist. Mark flips his hand over to link their fingers together before he can overthink it. Jackson’s thumb strokes over the back of his hand, slow in a way that makes his entire arm tingle. “But for the record, I always notice you noticing.”

Mark lets go of Jackson’s hand to bop him in the chest. “Stop it.”

“I’m being serious!” Jackson grabs Mark’s wrist to lay it flat on top of his own knee, tracing out a pattern on the sensitive skin of his palm. His touch is so light that it tickles, and it shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

“You’re always looking out for me. You read me better than anyone. So I mean it. I’ve never thought you deserve less than what I give you. Sometimes… sometimes I want to give you more.”

“More?” Mark’s heart must be loud enough for Jackson to hear. It’s too big for his chest, his body, this entire city. “What do you—”

“If you want.” Jackson’s fingers link with his again. He pulls their hands out from his side and Mark no choice but to follow the motion and lean in. Jackson’s so close. Mark can’t help but look down at his mouth, at the shine of his bottom lip after he bites down on it. “I—”

The walkie screeches from Mark’s belt, and he jumps back so fast Jackson’s chest collides with his shoulder as he accidentally pulls him forward.

“Sorry, folks, bad connection,” Yubin’s voice echoes out. “Bad news too. They can’t fix whatever it is tonight so we’re going to have to continue filming tomorrow. Something about a software autoupgrade, I’m not really sure.” She sighs, and someone mumbles something unintelligible in the background. “Get back home, get some rest. I’ll send out a mass email in the morning once we can get things figured out. Leave your equipment here, we’ll just store it in the back.”

Mark almost wants to laugh, but he holds it in. “We should go.”

“Yeah.” Jackson clears his throat, pushing up and off of Mark.

Mark picks up the kimbap and the drink for his lap and passes them back to Jackson to put back in the bag. “So much for food I guess. Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? We’ll just save it for later.” The bag hangs from his wrist and rustles as he turns away. “If you want—I know you live pretty far?”

Mark stays with his back against the wall, staring at the line of Jackson’s shoulders. “Yeah. Forty minutes in a taxi, probably.”

“My place is only twenty minutes. If-If you want.”

“Yeah.” Mark’s heart rises into his throat. He can’t swallow it back down. “Yeah, okay.”

 

 

“This is me.” Jackson fumbles with the passcode buttons on his apartment door. It gives a sweet little jingle before he swings it open. “I mean. You know that. But.”

Over four years, Mark has never seen the inside of Jackson’s apartment for more than a few minutes when he’s dropped by to pick him up on the way to their shoots. There had never been a need to stay, so he hadn’t.

Jackson goes in first to turn on the entranceway light. The entire apartment smells like him—his laundry detergent, his cologne, the lingering earthiness of the doenjang jjigae from the restaurant down the street he always talks about getting takeout from. Mark’s never been here long enough to take it all in. It folds around him warm and steady, just like Jackson does.

“Sorry for the mess.” He grabs a pair of extra slippers and kneels down in front of Mark to slip his feet into them. “I haven’t had anyone over in a while.”

“It’s cool. Feels like you really live here.”

“Feels like I don’t, half the time. I’m gonna go put these in the fridge, treat this like it’s your place and look at whatever you want.”

The space isn’t big, so it only takes Mark a few steps to make it into the living room. A teetering pile of old scripts sits on the coffee table with Jackson’s laptop and a few boxes of green tea. The legion of skincare bottles Jackson gets from his sponsorships takes over the desk in the corner. Unfolded laundry swallows half the couch.

It’s cluttered but it isn’t dirty, and it’s just so Jackson that Mark can’t hold back his smile as he walks over to look more closely at the picture frames hung up on the far wall. There’s a few of Jackson as a baby, Jackson with his mom, Jackson in his fencing uniform in high school. The rest are more recent: Jackson and his friends in Korea, with the staff from the show, with his arms stretched out against a mountaintop sunrise when they’d filmed in China. They’re all taken from far away by someone else, until Mark lands on one of the two of them.

His hair is red, so it must be from when he first started on the show, but he doesn’t remember taking it. Jackson has his arm wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him in close to squish their cheeks together as they both laugh. Mark’s eyes aren’t even open. It’s obviously a selfie, blown up big and grainier than the rest of the photos he has up. 

Jackson’s arms wrap around Mark’s waist from behind. Mark settles back into him, letting Jackson support his weight as he relaxes. Jackson buries his face into Mark’s neck, inhaling slowly and then tightening his arms when he exhales hot against his skin.

“You smell good,” Jackson says, muffled into the fabric of Mark’s sweater.

Mark laughs. He’s still looking at the wall of photos but he can’t focus on anything other than Jackson and how warm and solid he feels up against him. “What?”

“I dunno. Like. The ocean or something? Warm and kind of salty. It’s really nice.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“Mmm. You see my baby pictures?” 

“You were cute. But my favourite is this one.” He points to the selfie.

“S’my favourite too.” Jackson’s chin digs into Mark’s shoulder. “I think it was 6 months after we started working together? I found it in my old saved photos two years ago and I—I had to put it up. I mean. Look at us. We’re so cute. Babies.”

Mark’s pulse pounds in his ears. Everything zeros in on just them: the weight of Jackson’s arms and the heat of his breath against his neck, like he’s caught in a tunnel and everything is just Jackson. Like it’s always been Jackson.

“We look good together.”

“Yeah,” Jackson breathes.

“Gaga,” Marks says, slow and drawn out. He’s too hot in this sweater but he doesn’t want Jackson to let go. He’s tired and it’s making him say things he’d never say, but he doesn’t care enough to stop himself right now. “Why did you pick this picture?”

“I don’t know what it is. I guess it just. Reminds me of how you make me feel. You know?”

“Yeah.” Mark swallows hard against the lump in his throat. His heart’s beating so fast he can barely breathe, and it’s like he’s hurtling full throttle into a wall but he can’t stop. Not now. Already there’s warmth spreading out underneath his skin, reaching every bit of him and he doesn’t want it to stop. “I-I know. Earlier when you said you wish you could give me more, if I said that I wanted that too…”

“You do?”

“Yeah.” Mark turns to face him. The look on Jackson’s face slots right into place now that he’s finally letting himself look at it for what it is—soft and warm and deep enough to fall into, if he’d let himself. “Yeah I want that. I-I want you.”

“Holy shit.” It’s so soft it’s more of an exhale than anything, and it makes Mark laugh as he whacks him in the shoulder. Jackson’s eyes go wide as he takes in Mark’s face, letting his hands slide down to his hips. His thumbs graze Mark’s skin underneath his sweater. “Like, now? Right this second? I mean. I’m down. Holy fuck am I down but I don’t have supplies so we’ll—”

“Oh my god,” Mark moans. The laughter bubbles up from deep in his stomach until he’s shaking with it, his forehead pressed to Jackson’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean. Oh my god.”

Mark straightens back up, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand. Jackson’s hands have loosened like he’s about to move away. Mark loops his arms around his neck to keep him close.

“On a scale of one to ten, how badly did I ruin this already?”

“Strong negative 5,000.” Mark flicks him in the forehead. Jackson winces but his face settles into a smile and his hands tighten up again. “It was cute. And I’d. I’d like to do that with you. Someday. Just not today. I’m tired and I’m not, uh, prepared. So. I meant I want to date you. If you want. We can take it slow?”

“Yeah, of course. So I’m your boyfriend now? No takebacks.” 

“Pretty sure I don’t want to take it back.”

Jackson’s face goes impossibly soft again. He pushes Mark’s bangs away from his eyes. His hand lingers, cupped around Mark’s face, his thumb stroking over his cheek. His eyebrows furrow together as he tries hard to not stare at Mark’s mouth and fails spectacularly.

“So uh. Is kissing cool? If it’s not it’s okay, I can wait, but I’d really like to—”

“Yeah.” Mark leans in, right up close to Jackson’s mouth. “Kissing’s cool.”

“Awesome. Cool.” 

Jackson makes this tiny sound as soon as their mouths touch, like he can’t believe this is happening. Then he’s pressing in, slow and steady. Mark had expected him to rush through kissing with the kind of enthusiasm for competition he brings to everything in his life, but he’s the opposite—careful and meticulous about it like he’s trying to pull Mark apart piece by piece just so he can put him together again. 

His lips are chapped from the cold and his stubble chafes a little against Mark’s upper lip, but Mark can’t find it in himself to care. Before he can register what’s happening, Jackson’s walking him a little farther down the wall, away from the picture frames. He crowds in until Mark’s back settles against the wall and he can press himself in close to the front of his body.

Mark’s hands feel out the width of Jackson’s shoulders through his sweater. He feels heavy and solid against him in a way he doesn’t ever want to stop. Jackson’s mouth breaks away from his to press tiny kisses to the line of his jaw. Mark whines in complaint when he pulls away to look him in the eyes again. Both of them are breathing hard. At some point Jackson’s thigh made it in between his legs and Mark tries not to let his weight settle down onto it.

“I didn’t say this is the store earlier because I wasn’t sure what you wanted and I didn’t want to freak you out.” Jackson shifts forward, and his thigh moves with him to give Mark just the right amount of pressure. Mark tries to bite back the desperate noise that comes out without his permission, but he can’t hide it. “When I said I wanted to give you more, I meant I want to date you but I also—I also meant like this.”

“Fu-uck,” Mark gasps.

Jackson grinds forward a little more, increasing and releasing the pressure as Mark gets harder in his jeans. The soft skin around Mark’s mouth burns. Jackson breathes out hot against his neck. “I want you to feel good when you’re with me. When it’s like this, or if I’m just like. Getting you lunch when we’re filming or something. I don’t care. Whatever you want.”

His mouth moves down, open and hot as he sucks at the skin of Mark’s neck. Probably trying to leave a mark. Which—which Mark will think about later. Right now it’s feels like there’s a direct connection between his neck and his dick, and he can’t even think. His eyelids feel heavy. His entire body feels heavy.

He can’t help it. He yawns loud and drawn out into the space Jackson left when he ducked his head down. Jackson breaks away with a loud pop that doesn’t bode well for Mark’s neck tomorrow. His mouth is red and swollen and it just makes his pout more ridiculous.

“This is. Honestly not really the reaction I was hoping for.”

“So-orry,” Mark gets out around another yawn. “Don’t take it as commentary on your kissing. I think running around all night is catching up to me. ‘M tired. Not all of us have limitless energy. S’probably like 4AM right now. I don’t know how you do it.”

“You want to sleep?” Jackson pulls away to let Mark settle against the floor. Mark’s still half hard and it’s a little weird but he doesn’t want to deal with it right now. Jackson’s thumb finds the inside of his wrist, stroking against the thin skin. “You can borrow some pajamas.”

“I feel like you just want to see me in your clothes,” Mark says as Jackson leads him down towards his bedroom door.

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it.” Jackson smiles at Mark before he digs around in his drawers for sweatpants and an old tshirt, but he leaves Mark alone in the room to change.

Mark climbs into the clothes and then into Jackson’s bed with what little energy he has left in his body. He presses his face into his pillow. It smells just like Jackson’s shampoo.

“M’ready,” he calls out, but it comes out quieter than he means it to.

Mark can’t keep his eyes open as Jackson moves around the room, shuffling through drawers. Something makes a soft whooshing sound as it falls onto the floor. Then he blinks and suddenly Jackson’s pressed up all along his back, their legs tangled together. Jackson’s hand slides around his middle and slips underneath his shirt to rest against the skin of his stomach.

“G’night.” It’s easy to drift off with Jackson wrapped around him like this. He’s gotten so used to sleeping together in their hotel rooms that he has trouble sleeping alone when he’s home. It’s so warm he wants to sink into it and stay there until he melts, maybe, but that doesn’t make sense. He’s so tired.

“Mmm.” Jackson presses a kiss to the back of Mark’s neck.

Mark lets his eyes slip closed. His body feels heavy. He’s exhausted, but he’s with Jackson, so it’ll be okay. When they’re together it always is.

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes:  
> 1\. Yeeun's title was mentioned, but Yubin is the FD (floor director) of the show. Jackson didn't use her title because he has a tendency to just call everyone hyung/noona and not their proper title.  
> 2\. The title for "Warming Man" comes from a recent interview that Jackson did with Eric Nam.  
> 3\. Jackson's nickname "Gaga" comes from his Cantonese name, Wang Ka Yee. You can hear Mark use it on camera sometimes!  
> 4\. I don't actually have any experience in the TV industry/haven't been to Korea, so everything here was secondhand research. I'm sorry for any inaccuracies!


End file.
